


the golden atoms of the day

by blackkat



Series: terrible awful no-good vampire AUs [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 12:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19790713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “Silver,” Orochimaru says, wrinkling his nose at the shackles on his wrists. “Really?”





	the golden atoms of the day

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Saku/Oro- misadventures of everyone thinking Oro is a vampire because he fits the "aesthetic". Turns out it was Sakumo all along.

“Silver,” Orochimaru says, wrinkling his nose at the shackles on his wrists. _“Really?”_

“Shut up,” the Hunter tells him, flat and dangerous. “There’s nothing stopping us from staking you right now, bloodsucker.”

Orochimaru raises a brow, but obligingly settles back against the wall with a sound of amusement. “Really,” he repeats, and eyes the ring of running water that circles the cell. The men are all wearing some sort of garlic spray, as far as his nose can tell, but they seem very convinced that he’s safely contained; all of their attention is on the door out into the rest of the base, and they’re clutching their weapons tightly. 

In the distance, over the sound of the water, Orochimaru can hear screams. 

“Shit,” one man mutters, shifting like he’s containing the urge to run. Orochimaru studies him, tilting his head as he assesses, and smiles, thin and intent. “What kind of Hunter is he?”

“The kind that consorts with vampires,” the first Hunter tells him, and jerks his head to the side. “Cover the window.”

Because of course there’s a window. How else would they threaten him with sunlight, Orochimaru thinks, amused, and tugs lightly on the manacles as the Hunters shift. Silver is such a soft metal; maybe they’d hold a vampire, powerless in the grip of blessed metal, but on Orochimaru they’re already starting to give. Not that the men have noticed—their attention is all on the thud of a body outside the door, the aborted cry of someone having a very bad day. 

Orochimaru breathes in, lets his tongue flicker out to taste the air. Blood, hot metal, raw flesh set against the dead air of this locked-up base. 

Of course the idiot came in the middle of the day. 

There’s a long, long moment of silence, and then a clack, the bolt on the door being thrown, a creak. It swings in, and in the same moment Orochimaru wrenches down on his bonds, feels them give and snap and crumple against his skin. He rises to his feet just as a man steps into the opening, moon-pale hair and dark eyes and a splatter of fresh blood. He’s beautiful, and Orochimaru laughs, sibilant in the stunned silence. 

“Dearest,” he says, a lazy bit of smugness, and Sakumo’s eyes are on him, have never left, even with the threat of a half-dozen weapons pointed at his chest. “You’re early.”

Sakumo laughs, tension-tight with something like fury, and takes a step forward over the threshold, Orochimaru’s words close enough to a welcome to allow him in. “Kakashi is staying with Anko tonight,” he says. “I thought we could make an evening of it. Maybe a picnic by the river.”

Orochimaru hums, lifting one wrist to his mouth. A long scrape from the cuffs is bleeding freely, and he watches Sakumo’s expression darken as he licks the blood away. Red blood, bright in the half-light, and if the fools had any intelligence at all they’d have noticed already. 

“A picnic, Sakumo?” he returns. “How…quaint.”

Sakumo’s smile is easy, dangerous. “You know I love my romantic gestures,” he says, and finally looks at the Hunter in front. “If you could let him go, I’d be much obliged,” he says, as if they hadn’t signed their own death warrants the moment they concocted this plan. 

The Hunter’s shoulders square, gun rising. “Hunters shouldn’t consort with vampires,” he says coldly. “It goes against the Code. You brought this upon yourself, Hatake.”

Sakumo blinks. Looks past the man, right at Orochimaru, and raises a brow. “I’m well aware,” he says, as mild as a summer sky. “It makes rather less of a point about Nagas consorting with vampires, though.”

“What?” The Hunter looks baffled. “You’re a Naga—”

“Not _me,”_ Sakumo says, and white-scaled coils sweep the Hunter’s feet out from under him. Instantly, Sakumo moves, a blur too fast to catch, and Orochimaru leans around a spray of blood as he shifts back to a more human form, hopping easily across the flowing water and delicately stepping around the bodies that litter the floor. Not drained, he notices, eyeing them. Not that he expected them to be; Sakumo is nothing if not careful, and Hunters often take herbs to make their blood toxic to the supernatural. 

A hand catches his at the edge of the doorway, pulling him out of the room and then right up into Sakumo’s arms, and Orochimaru hums into the kiss, pleased, and curls his fingers in soft white hair. 

“A daytime trip?” he asks, pulling back. “Daring of you.”

Sakumo chuckles. “Jiraiya let me know what was going on,” he says. “And he snuck me in with a load of supplies. I wasn’t in any danger.” Carefully, gently, he raises a hand to cup Orochimaru’s cheek, bringing his bloody wrist up to his lips. “You, on the other hand—”

Orochimaru snorts. “They couldn’t even tell that I wasn’t a vampire,” he says disdainfully. “What about me looks vampiric, Sakumo?”

The attempt Sakumo makes to hide his amusement is almost insultingly terrible. “Several things, lovely, at least where they were concerned." 

Lightly, Orochimaru thumps him on the shoulder in admonishment, then steps past a puddle of blood. “If Jiraiya got you in, I assume he’s still lurking somewhere nearby,” he says over his shoulder. “Don’t loiter, Sakumo. I was promised an evening by the river.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Sakumo catches his hand, settles it in the curve of his elbow, and when Orochimaru casts him a narrow look, he smiles. “I’m glad you’re all right, Orochimaru."

"You're a sentimental fool,” Orochimaru accuses, but he tightens his grip on Sakumo’s forearm just slightly, leaning into the bulk of him. Sakumo doesn’t point that out, just kisses his bloodied wrist, touching fangs to pale skin, and whirls Orochimaru into a darkened corner to kiss him properly. 


End file.
